


3 am

by unsettled



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-03
Updated: 2010-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-10 09:14:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for this kink meme prompt: <i>The reason Holmes plays violin at 3 in the morning is because he wants Watson's attention.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	3 am

It is dark out, and Holmes is bored. He can't sleep – probably because he's thrown himself into a strange schedule with his late nights (early mornings) and late arising. Or maybe it's the drug surging through his blood. Or maybe it's the sound that is Watson's breathing, amplified and surrounding him, like the scent of antiseptic, like cheap smoke, like pale hairs on strong arms, and Watson has been ignoring him. Holmes isn't sure what he did to infuriate him this time (correction: he has done any number of things that would tend rouse Watson's temper, but he's not sure which one specifically it was). He has a sneaking suspicion it might have been slipping him an experimental drug in his tea, because Watson can be rather wrathful about his tea being interfered with, but really, if he hadn't even noticed the taste than the tea itself couldn't have been very good…

He is bored. There are many things he could do, but they are all boring, boring, boring, and while he feels trapped by these four walls, he know from experience that the sensation will not be eased by cobbled streets and drunken brawls. Watson would bring him amusing stories in all seriousness, Watson would attempt to distract him with some ridiculous error he would be compelled to correct, but Watson was _ignoring_ him. He would have to steal one of his waistcoats. Maybe the blue one. It's maddening, being ignored. Holmes is seldom ignored. He has a manner of sliding under the skin until a person cannot help but snap at him.

Maybe he'll find himself a fight. He is rummaging through the piles for his coat before he realizes that at this hour whoever he finds to relieve his boredom will likely damage him more than he particularly cares for, and then Watson will be furious at him all over again. He sits with a sigh of frustration. Maddening, maddening, maddening. A snatch of song remembers itself, and he pauses, contemplative. Dah dee dah dum, da dum, da dumdadee… before he is even aware of it, he has lifted the violin to his shoulder. Now how did it go? Oh yes, and he slides the bow across the strings. Slow, sweet, a trail of melody here, a variation here, and that bit reminds him of another song, which segues into another, and soon they become intertwined into something that makes perfect harmony in his head, but would cause another to wince at dissonance.

_Thud. Thud._

With a scrape, the violin is silenced. Holmes cocks his head at the stillness, and sets the bow back to strings.

"HOLMES!"

"Hmm?" he murmurs, knowing he won't be heard, and teases another particularly shrill screech out of the instrument. Almost a full octave above Watson's own screech…

"For the love all that's holy, why can you not play at some decent hour like a normal human being? It's 3 in the bloody morning!"

Ah, Watson. "Indeed," and slides back into a soothing Mendelssohn, a smile curling his lips. Hardly ignoring him now.


End file.
